


Who would buy it from me, this ribbon I am holding

by ABroodyGay



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, some smut to soothe my bitter lesbian soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABroodyGay/pseuds/ABroodyGay
Summary: She has to face her past to move on...or forever be chained to it.(Delias pov of episode 2)





	

_ “I know what the letter will say; come home.And that will mean leaving you, so I prefer to leave it unread.” _

Those words have been playing in an unending loop in the back of your mind for days now; while you take blood pressures, listen to foetal heartbeats, scrub bedpans…

You know the conflict of leaving you and going to her father is tearing Patsy’s heart apart as much as it yours. She’s had so much loss in her life, more than most people can understand. She was too close to losing you once, you can see the relief on her face every time you walk through the door at the end of the day, that she gets to have you for another twenty four hours. You know she’d rather take her chances at having you safe and with her than the certainty of losing her last family member, that she has convinced herself that you are her family now.

It’s taken years of breaking down walls, brick by brick, to even get her to mention her mother and sister. You still don’t know all the horrors of her childhood and you doubt you ever will. To see her father would be to confront those horrors again, to face the guilt of being the ones left behind...and then to helplessly watch a family member die again.

A small selfish part of you wants to cling to her because you can understand her terror.You desperately want to allow her to lie to herself, that she doesn’t yearn to go back, that she can hide those letters in the bottom of the waste paper bin...but that voice in the back your head (the one that sounds very much like Nurse Crane) tells you that you have to let her go. She has to face her past to move on...or forever be chained to it.

So you keep up with the gentle pressure, terrified you’re going to go too far and succeed in only pushing her away.

* * *

 

 

You watch from a distance as she talks to Mrs Reed. She is normally in her element with patients, confident and in control and yet this time she seems different. Fragile as the mother she is speaking with: small and vulnerable. Patsy rarely wears her heart on her sleeve and to see her open herself to comfort another...it gives you hope.

When she finds you in the garden holding back a flood of angry tears you’re not surprised that after today's events she has finally made her decision.

She is going where she is needed most.

She is going to her father.

And leaving you behind.  
  


You’re so proud of her, you can see her heart is breaking as much as yours but you know she’s made the right decision.

“....how will we survive the time apart.” She’s just echoed your worst fears, so you tell her what you’ve been promising yourself.

“We’ll do what everyone else does, we’ll write, we’ll wait, we’ll love.”

 

* * *

 

That night before she leaves you try and put what you can’t say into words, into every touch and every kiss. You try and commit to memory how her thighs tremble around your face, how she tastes and feels against your lips and tongue, how her hands feel in your hair, how your name sounds in her mouth, the way she looks at you after she comes, flushed and adoring and sad all at once. You try to remember the way she touches you, sometimes barely there brushes with her fingertips against your clit, the way she crooks her fingers inside you, her lips whispering against your ear, the grip of her hand around your thigh, almost hard enough to bruise… her kisses seem to burn as she claims you, branding you as hers.

After when your sweat has cooled on your skin and you huddle together in the tiny single bed, legs tangled and the soft rise and fall of her chest under your cheek, she tells you all she can remember of her father... as if speaking it aloud it will make the memory of him alive, not the shell of a man she knows she is going to see.

As she drifts off into a fretful slumber she murmurs “I wish you could come with me…”

“So do I, cariad.”

* * *

 

While she has her morning bath, you write what you love about her and more, how proud you of her, how brave she is, how much you will miss her in a letter and seal it with a kiss.  Spending your last hours together, is almost painful, awkward even, barely talking, the dread settling in both your stomach's, your fingers trembling as you help her pin her hair and place your letter neatly in her suitcase. The click of it shutting seems so final it fills you with grief.

“I love you.”

She’s never said it with words herself, but tells you in other ways. But just this once you need to hear it spoken…

“I can’t do this.” She looks so small and broken and lost, you want to gather her up in your arms and never let her go.

“You have to.” 

You need to feel your lips against hers just once last time, to remember the softness of them-

“You carriage has arrived.”

But it seems the fates have conspired against you. You can’t even bring yourself to look at Fred or you just might scream at him.

Now you have to keep up the pretence, hold back your tears when all you want to do is cling to her and weep openly and freely. Separating yourself off from everyone else, scared of breaking down in front of them you watch her load the car with the last of her luggage, bracing yourself for a distant farewell but when she throws her arms around your neck and whispers  _ I love you _ your heart soars and shatters all at once.

 

And so you watch her go. You watch her face her past while she leaves her future on standby.

* * *

 

 

The facade starts to slip when Phyllis confronts you with your pain. How she knows about you and Patsy you don’t know… you’ve been so careful but when she murmurs those lovely words and offers you the book, you readily accept, desperate to ease the ache that is burdening your heart.

_ Ay, the pain it costs me to love you as I love you! _

And that night you let yourself break, tears soaking into the pillow that smells of  _ Patsy, Patsy, Patsy, _ and the poems of Garcia Lorca clutched to your chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I would apologise for the added heartache but I'm a glutton for punishment.


End file.
